Articles
by TrivialQueen
Summary: A collection of short moments in the lives of Edith, Anthony, and others in their lives. Some happy, others less so, a few AU.
1. Earth, Edith

Articles

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><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: Downton Abbey would be a very different show, believe me, if I were the one in charge. Downton Abbey belongs to one Julian Fellowes.

Paring/ Character(s): None – Edith Crawley, The Drakes

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><p><strong>Earth<strong>

Edith shivered and pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. The air smelled of damp ground, a cold rain had fallen all morning. It still lingered around her, chilling her and adding to the gloom of the afternoon. She shivered again as a puddle on the path soaked through her boots, but it was not because she was cold.

It was the smell. The cool, organic scent of freshly turned damp earth. Her lips tingled. She could remember everything, still, like it was yesterday.

The taste of beer from the bottle and his lips. The barn light reflecting in his eyes as he looked at her. It had made him look like he thought she was pretty. The smell of earth and hay and man as he kissed her. It was her first kiss and a sincere regret.

It was just that he had made her feel pretty in that moment – and useful – and wanted. He wanted her that night, yes, but he had also wanted her company in general. It had made her lose track of herself. Her place. His place.

His wife.

Edith cut her walk short, turning for home sadly, slowly, the damp and cold, rain, the scent of the earth and memories clinging to her.


	2. Fall, Edith

Articles

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><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: Downton Abbey would be a very different show, believe me, if I were the one in charge. Downton Abbey belongs to one Julian Fellowes.

Paring/ Character(s): None – Edith Crawley, Isobel Crawley

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><p><strong>Fall<strong>

"There is something so beautiful but tragic about this time of year." Cousin Isobel commented as scarlet and gold leaves drifted down around them, carried on a crisp wind.

"The colors – I think. It's the colors that make it so. They are so rich and striking, as vibrant as jewels. The forests are just ablaze with color. And yet those colors come about-"

"Because everything is dying." Edith cut in dryly. She felt like it was fall so often.

All those handsome young men looking smart as they died off in France.


	3. Lovers, Gregson

Articles

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><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: Downton Abbey would be a very different show, believe me, if I were the one in charge. Downton Abbey belongs to one Julian Fellowes.

Paring/ Character(s): Michael Gregson/ His wife

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><p><strong>Lovers<strong>

He had fallen in love with her smile first. It had been so bright and generous. Sincere. It was a physical manifestation of her sweet spirit and humor. Her humor. God she had a mind quick and sharp as the crack of a whip. Her smile and her mind were what he had fallen in love with first and deeply. He still, God help him, he still loved them – loved her. But her mind and her smile were the first to go. His lady-love looked the same, even now, but she was not the same. She was not the woman he loved.

She had her moments, her good days. The wonderful, horrible good days when she was as she had been. When she was the woman he remembered, the woman he fell in love with and on those days he fell in love with her all over again. But those days were few and far between.

He was lonely. Yes his bed was empty – he did miss that but emptier than his nights was his heart. He wanted his wife but if she would never be well (and the doctors were trying less and less to convince him she would be) he wanted love. To love someone again and to be loved once again in return.

He just wanted somebody to love.


	4. Snow, Anthony Maud

Articles

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><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: Downton Abbey would be a very different show, believe me, if I were the one in charge. Downton Abbey belongs to one Julian Fellowes.

Paring/ Character(s): Anthony Strallan/ Maud Strallan

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><p><strong>Snow<strong>

"I do not believe bare skin contact is the doctor recommended remedy for a chill." Maud said, shivering – this time because of the delicate designs her husband's long fingers drew across her bare back. Under her sprawled torso her Anthony's lean chest shook with laughter. They were lying together on the rug before the library's roaring fire, their trail of boots and blouses, coats and corsets telling the staff that tea could wait.

"Are you suggesting I would lie to you?" he asked, a wicket smirk splitting his face. His fingers switched from absent minded tattoos to focused teasing.

"To get me naked? Yes!" his chuckle was deep, satisfied, and infectious.

"I am hurt, your health has always been my deepest concern. Though perhaps I miss diagnosed you." His blue eyes were dilated almost black, despite the fire light, as his skilled fingers roamed lower. His lustful gaze made her shiver even as she returned it.

"Perhaps?" she intoned as sarcastically as she could given her arousal on his fingers and his pressing against her hip.

"Yes, you are still shivering. I suspect hypothermia now, not a trifle chill."

"Need I remind you that you are the one who threw me into that snow drift?" She had to get that sentence out while she could. Anthony had a way of making her blissfully inarticulate.

"You started it, Maudear, but fear not. I shall finish it."

"How?" she moaned. _God those hands._

"The best remedy for hypothermia is getting you between the sheets."

_Splat! A cold, wet ball of snow hit him in the back of the head and slowly slid down the collar of his jacket. Surprised he whipped around. Maud smiled coyly, giving a small wave with a wet hand._

"_You!" he exclaimed scrambling to both wipe the snow out of his coat and to form snowball for retaliation. She hit him again when he bent. His throw missed. She lobbed another. He ducked and rushed her, sweeping her off her feet. He swung her high in the air, giddy shrieks filling the evening sky._

"_Anthony! Put me down!" he headed for a drift. "_Not there_!__" she held on tight as he dropped her. They both fell laughing into the drift._


	5. Eyes, Antony Edith

Articles

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><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: Downton Abbey would be a very different show, believe me, if I were the one in charge. Downton Abbey belongs to one Julian Fellowes.

Paring/ Character(s): Edith, Mary, and Cora Crawley, Anthony Strallan/ Edith Crawley

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><p><strong>Eyes<strong>

"What on earth do you see in him, Edith? You seem to care a great deal about him and you both look happy together – I want in on your secret. I don't understand." Edith sighed heavily and tried to not roll her eyes. Her mother meant well, Edith told herself repeatedly, but sometimes her mother's concern made Edith feel worse rather than better.

"I know exactly what she sees – her only chance at marrying and not becoming some maiden aunt haunting this place the rest of her life." Cora's attempts at heart to hearts would be by far more successful if she stopped insisting Mary be included. Even with a sharp gasp of

"Mary!" Their mother could never truly curb her sister's tongue. Her attempts had always been feeble at best and now they felt like hollow gestures than anything else. But, Edith happily reminded herself, she would be married soon and spared this.

Thinking of Anthony brought her back to the topic at hand. The question still hanging in the air, sweetly ominous.

"I don't just care for him, Mother, I _love_ him. If love him and he loves me that is it – our secret – our happiness – our whatever. It's not affection or 'dear feelings' but love."

"How can you love him – he's as dull as paint!"

"Mary!" Another hollow gasp. This time Edith did roll her eyes.

"And he's old!"

"Mary! Really!"

"Oh Mother, if Mary really wants to be so short sighted then she is allowed." Edith retorted. Yes, Anthony was older and his interests were something that Mary would find horribly dull (and unimportant – and she was wrong on both accounts). She didn't see his intelligence nor his compassion. She saw greying hair and pale blue eyes – if she saw him at all.

Edith saw that but she also saw so much more. When she looked into his eyes she saw light and she felt heat. He was the resolution of all her fruitless searching. He made her complete.


	6. Found, Anthony Edith

Articles

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><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: Downton Abbey would be a very different show, believe me, If I were the one in charge. Downton Abbey belongs to Julian Fellowes.

Pairing/ Character(s): Anthony Strallan/ Edith Crawley.

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><p><strong>Found<strong>

_From my heart of hearts I would like to thank my wonderful husband, for so many things. Without his support and love this book would never have seen the light of day. His editing and thoughtful critiques have made my work what it is today. Most of all, I must thank my husband for helping me to find my voice. Without patience and prodding questions about MY opinions I would have never have had the courage to put a word on the page. Without you I would have never have found my voice and I sincerely thank you, Anthony. I love you with all that I am._

_I dedicate this book to my children, Edward and Amelia, who did not know it but inspired me to write every time they asked me "why?"_

Edith ran a hand over the dedication page of the newly published tome; the complete collection of all her articles and essays that had been published over the years. The publisher assured her that this copy was hers to keep – the first of many copies to be published. The weight of it made everything all the more real. Contained between these two covers was all of her hard work, all of her thoughts, her success, some of her struggles, and all of her sincere opinions.

Walking back to the London house, her book tucked under her arm Edith smiled wistfully. She could remember the first step on her journey to this anthology as if it were yesterday. Granted that first step had been significant for a number of reasons – it had been she first found her voice. It was also when she realized that Sir Anthony Strallan was a man she could fall in love with.

_It had been early in the days of their earliest courtship. After tea in his library she had suggested a walk, spring was upon them in earnest and the flowers had never been lovelier. The conversation and the path had meandered. They had wondered along until they ended up standing at the edge of a field discussing crop rotations and tenet-landlord relations. For her part Edith hadn't a clue about much of anything regarding the conversation – her father and his estate manager discussed those issues in the privacy of the library. She was never involved in such decisions but she did enjoy listening to Anthony's voice, watching his eyes light up as he looked at the farmland – and at her._

"_Well, what do you think?" He asked her, blue eyes studying her face intently. Edith was taken aback._

"_What do I think? I hardly think I am qualified to give an opinion in this."_

"_I would like to hear what you think regardless." For a moment she just looked at him. No one wanted to hear her opinion. If she offered one at Downton she was either told to 'shut up' by Mary or 'that's nice, Dear' by her parents who promptly did whatever it was they wanted without her thoughts._

"_Really? I know nothing about estate management, why would you want my opinion?" Anthony's eyes shone with a new light and he lightly took her hand, his expression serious. Kind but serious._

"_Edith, Sweet One, I do not ask for an opinion if I am not interested in listening to it. I asked for _your_ opinion because I think you are an intelligent young woman with thoughts that are worth listening to, you have important things to say. Now, if you would please – say them to me."_


	7. Grief, Edith Patrick Mary

Articles

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><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: Downton Abbey would be a very different show, believe me, if I were the one in charge. Downton Abbey belongs to one Julian Fellowes.

Paring/ Character(s): Edith Crawley/ Patrick/ Mary Crawley

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><p><strong>Grief<strong>

Edith had waited for this night, she'd waited and wished and dreamed of it since Papa had told them a few weeks ago. Patrick would be visiting. She'd begun planning what she would wear and what she would say that very moment. She'd always thought him cute – a curly haired little boy with a lazy smile and intelligent eyes – but he'd grown up to be absolutely handsome.

Well she'd grown too and Edith was determined that he notice he surely would – he was so smart and he'd _seen_ her once before. They'd been hiding from Nanny in the garden and the way he'd looked at her. She was certain he'd seen _her_ and that had been ages ago. They were older now – there was now something for him to see if he really looked at her (rather than through her the way everyone else did).

The evening had started so well – she got to have wine and ware her favorite blue dress that made her so delicate and womanly. But best of all _she_ got to sit beside Patrick at dinner. They would have so much to talk about, it would be magical. She would be lovely and witty and he would be handsome and smitten.

Except he wasn't. Her dream evening was an utter nightmare. Patrick hardly looked at her all night, didn't notice her at all. Mary. He was enamored with Mary – hanging on her words, admiring her grace. And Mary that…that… (Edith couldn't even think of a word strong enough) ignored him. She brushed him off. She reveled in his attention, lorded it over her sister but while she loved the power she didn't care for Patrick at all. Mary didn't care for anyone but Mary, which made Edith seethe. Patrick deserved care and admiration. _Oh Patrick I love you. I love you more than Mary _ever _could or would._

But as she watched Patrick watch Mary she realized, with all the pain of needles and hot coal being shoved under her fingernails and her veins, that as much as she loved him he would never love her back.


	8. Hide, Patrick Edith

Articles

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><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: Downton Abbey would be a very different show, believe me, If I were the one in charge. Downton Abbey belongs to Julian Fellowes.

Pairing/ Character(s): Patrick Crawley, Edith Crawley.

_Author's Note: This takes place a few years before the start of the show, both Edith and Patrick are in their pre- to early teens. Also, Cora repeats some of the least helpful advice I've ever received in my life._

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><p><strong>Hide<strong>

Lost in the mystery of Mr. Holmes and the Baskerville moors Edith was utterly oblivious to her surroundings. The servants were used to it, as were her parents – they'd shout if they wanted her attention or simply steer her away from catastrophe if she walked while she read. Patrick watched as his cousin wandered from the library to the drawing room, her nose stuck in a book. If he kept along the wall she wouldn't notice him at all and he'd be able to get the jump on her. Reading was the only time Edith didn't notice him Patrick mused. Mischief was more difficult with her trailing after him with the devotion of a dog, the subtlety of an elephant, and the grace of a goose.

Quietly Patrick began to follow his middle cousin.

Edith turned the page on her mystery. Doyle was truly a gifted author; she could almost feel someone – or something – watching her.

The shout and the body on her back came out of nowhere and Edith couldn't help screaming. The book flew out of her hands and she found herself on the floor with Patrick sitting on her legs laughing manically.

"Patrick!" Edith screeched, her face flushed scarlet. "You scared me!"

"I did indeed!" He crowd, springing to his feet and darting off.

Edith sat up and stared after her cousin. Her book was crumpled, a few pages looked rip. Her place in the narrative most certainly lost.

"Edith, honey, what happened?" Cora asked, the shrieks and thumps drawing her from the drawing room.

"Patrick scared me." And hurt her when they fell, Edith could feel a large purple-black bruising on her left flank. She would be tender sitting for days.

"Oh, honey." Cora cooed, offering her middle child a hand. "Sometimes men tease you as a way to hide how they really feel. Sometimes the meaner they are the more they like you."


	9. Lunch, Gregson Edith

Articles

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><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: Downton Abbey would be a very different show, believe me, If I were the one in charge. Downton Abbey belongs to Julian Fellowes.

Pairing/ Character(s): Michael Gregson, Edith Crawley.

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><p><strong>Lunch<strong>

"I was wondering if you'd be interested in getting lunch with me." Mr. Gregson asked warmly, "Perhaps share a few more of your ideas or some stories about yourself. I know a charming little place not far from here." Edith found herself looking at the handsome man, slightly taken aback.

Eating in restaurants was not something Granny would do, or even Mama. Both preferred dinner at home or at the home of a peer after formal introductions and invitations. Papa ate, on occasion, at his club, and Rosemond enjoyed life music but neither was the same as eating lunch in a restaurant.

If Mr. Gregson had invited Mary she would have taken the offer as irrefutable proof she was irresistible and important to all men and that clearly she had the man utterly charmed. Sybil might find the gesture romantic or, conversely, launching into her more radical opinions and utterly ignore everything else.

"I'd like that." Edith said after a pause. Mr. Gregson had wanted to discuss her writing. He was interested in her work – in being her editor. This lunch was not a date or beneath her status. It was a business meeting. It was lunch with her editor.

This lunch was the first step in her journey to become Edith – the Modern Woman.


	10. Rain, Anthony

Articles

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><p><span>Disclaimer<span>: Downton Abbey would be a very different show, believe me, If I were the one in charge. Downton Abbey belongs to Julian Fellowes.

Pairing/ Character(s): Anthony Strallan.

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><p><strong>Rain<strong>

Roaring in the grate the fire chased the damp air from the library but not his bones. Hi wrapped the quilt tightly around his shoulders and turned the page on his favorite play –Richard III. As a younger man he'd enjoyed the power and the plots. Anthony found as an older man he could identify more with the title character. He could hardly blame the man for his anger, his bitterness. It was all he could do not to slip into the same trap himself. Especially on nights like this. His arm ached. The damp pained him – he couldn't move the blasted thing or feel a friendly touch, but the rain could make his arm ache down to the very marrow. Nights like this used to be his favorite. The rhythm of the rain, the warmth of the fire. Tea. A book. The cozy silence used to be his solace and his fantasy. How often had he sad here in companionable silence with Maud? How often had he pictured Edith beside him? His haven was now hell.


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